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*===========================< In Character Time >===========================*
Time of day: Night (Duskside)
Date on Aether: Saturday, April 23, 3906.
Year on Earth: 1506 A.D.
Phase of the Moon: Waxing Gibbous
Season: Spring
Weather: Clear Skies
Temperature: Warm
*==========================================================================*
Garden - Palladium - Haven
Water droplets spray upward from a marble fountain, glinting
like diamonds when the sunlight streams in and patterns the ground.
A trellis overhead holds grapevines that shade the paths below,
mingled with a wild tangle of rosebushes. In the warm months, they
bloom in a riot of color; ranging from a red so deep it's almost
black, to the purest white bud delicately laced with veins of pink.
Petals are strewn over the walkways, and their scent perfumes the
air with a heady aroma that is vaguely seductive.
Warm sunlight or the cooler glow of the moon reflects off the
marble columns supporting the various structures of the Palladium,
yet it is easy to forget a world beyond this garden. A few stone
benches provide 'places' where visitors may sit and converse, or
simply absorb this rich tapestry of sight, smell, and sound.
Contents:
Iris
Iris drops from the sky with no grace. None. Perhaps it is this reason that
she chooses to come in so late, so that her abysmal landing is not so easily
noticed by the raw crowds of the daytime garden. It's a wild flutter of
oversized wings, an uncertain and shortlived blast of air and the spreading
of raked leaves all over the once-prim garden that announced Iris' arrival.
And more slowly her wings draw in. One, than the other, as if she checks for
damage. One would not realize that this is standard MO.
Iris has seen you.
Nearer to the living quarters where the Nobles dwell, the sound of rustling
emits from the blooming foliage found in Springtime. But, however, this is
not the ruslting of leaves in the trees or feathers against the back of an
Empyrean, but the rather obstinant ruslte of cloth entangled in thorns. The
long black cloak, the signature of the mishapen Julius Justinius Jove, has
caught itself on the nearby rosebush much to it's wearers dismay. Trying to
struggle the cloak free, not yet make a complete fool of himself, Julius
looks up at the rush of leaves to see the latest arrival to the Gardens of
the Palladium... and hopes they don't notice this rather embarrasing predicerment.
IRIS
As a still-life, Iris is unremarkable, save for the height and breadth of
her huge, huge wings. She's tiny, no larger than 4' 10", and inelegantly
slender, carrying -just- enough musculature to allow Iris to fly with those
huge wings. No more flesh really clings to her bones or her legs, so that
while her features and size proclaim her as either a child or a female, the
curves that mark her as feminine mostly only delineate the tiny waist and
frail bones, rather than accent any of the more robust attractions of the
fairer sex.
In motion, Iris tends to draw some notice, if only because she's unable to
control, very well, the movements and direction of the huge wings she wears
upon her back. Iris flies clumsily at best; her 'execution' of landings would
merit prosecution of murder; she is often hard-pressed to pass through crowd
or room without leaving a trail of turned eyes or spilled objects. The grace
of gross motor skills is not one that Iris can claim. This overt clumsiness
often hides her superb fine motor skills.
In coloration, Iris is much like any other Empyrean: White wings are
strawberry-tipped, matching short-shorn strawberry-blond hair which itself
matches the freckles that bridge across Iris' nose, from the twin island of
freckles on either cheek. Her eyes are a light olive-green, huge and often
wide. Her lips are touched with pale rose, thin, yet expressive.
Iris tends to wear a 'man's' clothing -- trousers and shirts -- but in more
feminine hues. OOC: Iris is mid 20s.
Ah, but you're out of luck there, sonny. For just then comes the staccato
echo of the cane borne by Lydia, the dignified crone of Acesian. Along she
rambles, muttering to herself, until she gets quite close to the thorn bushes.
Noting a bit of cloth, she glances towards them and sharp blue eyes widen.
"What're you doin' in there, boy?" She rasps, waving her cane. "Them roses
look better without you in there!"
Thank heavens that none saw /her/ terrible landing, in the situation of the
man caught in the rose bushes. Iris straightens and draws a few quick breaths,
hoping to not appear she was flying or that flying tires her so. She then eases
a bit closer, out of curiosity to see Lydia and whomever it is Lydia is speaking
with. Of course Empyrean eyes are made for daylight sight, and not so good at
nighttime; Iris has to ease awful close.
Julius stands in the pathway of the gardens, trying rather desparately to free
himself with the least amount of movement possible. But, the best laid plans
of mice and Empyreans... "Forgive me, Domina," he says, his voice harsh and
raspy with low tones, "I ... seem to have passed too near..." His rather meek
gase lifts up enough to catch sight of the honoured Domina... and memory does
its work to recall the same face at a naming ceremony not too long ago...
LYDIA
Graceful in the essence maturity, this woman is has passed her prime. Sharp
and clear blue eyes peer from beneath delicate silver brows. Her skin is
flawless and wax-like as purplish veins branch into minuscule capillaries
under her nearly translucent skin. Platinum hair so lustrous that it's almost
blue swirls in ringlets to frame her face, before being pinned into a bun at
the nape of her neck. She possesses a face that may have at one time been
beautiful, but now shows the glory of old age, with a mouth that is given to
quirks and kind smiles.
In garments, she is draped in a pale pink chimire, her body lithe and sinewy,
feet encased in silvered sandals. Arching from her spine, blinding white
gossamer-like wings rustle with each unhurried step. A mother of pearl cane
is always within grasp of long and bony fingers.
Lydia has a failing memory, along with failing hearing, but she manages to
hear what has been said. "What did you do, try to smell them before they
were abloom?" She cackles, folding her hands on her cane. "Well, I'm not
going in there after you. Maybe..." She hears another rustle and glances up
to see Iris. "Ah, you there. Jump in and help the poor lad, yes?"
Do...What? Jump...Where? Lad? Iris' eyes widen and she leans enough to peer
around Lydia and see--Oh! Good thing it's dark, that flush isn't so evident.
"Yes Domina." Iris murmurs, as if she's long accustomed to being ordered
around to free young men from rosebushes. "If you'll excuse me, Domina." That
is, Iris and her huge wings need to get past you to get over /there/,
precisely where Julius is. "Dominus Jove." Quietly spoken, that, in greeting
to the trapped man.
Xerise enters the garden from the living quarters situated off to the right.
Xerise has arrived.
Iris is amused that Lydia sends in possible the worst clutz in the
Pallidium, to rescue Julius. I'm envisioning this quicksand-rescuer-
needing-rescued, scene here. :)
It's dark, and perhaps the scene over by the rosebushes isn't quite as
obvious: That is, except for Iris' huge wings, and Lydia's somewhat smaller
ones. But if one is to look closely, one might see that a third figure is there,
his dark cloak entwined with the thorns of the rosebush, and his actions seeming
to only worsen his situation. At the moment, Iris eases by Lydia, having been
sent in to rescue the Jovian. It is her wings that rustle the bushes, while
Lydia straw-bosses.
Xerise emerges into the garden, scrubbing at freshly ink-stained fingertips
with a damp cloth of some sort. Most of her attention is focused on this task,
her feet taking the paths in the garden automatically. Perhaps she's left
enough to avoid running into someone. Perhaps not.
*sigh* It just gets worse doesn't it? Julius' bright blue eyes widen a tad
as he is forced to break from tugging at his cloak to see that, yes, that is
the young woman from the baths. Not really sure as to how he is to be extracted,
he drops the cloak and is still with enough wits about him to give a polite nod.
"Domina." he says in that same quiet voice. Ettiqutte demands in even the worst
situations...
Lydia cackles. You see the beauty of my plan. ;)
Lydia pulls back as asked, leaning against her cane. "That's a good lass,
help the poor boy out of there before he hurts the roses. Honestly." She sighs,
shaking her head.
Atalanta enters the garden from the living quarters situated off to the right.
Atalanta has arrived.
Within the thorny forest of the bushes, and with her wings now held carefully,
propped by their primaries on the ground (they are still trembly from Iris'
recent exertion), Iris tries to keep the worst of the rose branches from her
skin as she slides forward, "I'm sorry," she begins the conversation, as
she'd ended the last, "I don't know --Here. Can you tell me how you're stuck?"
Iris isn't sure ...Well. The option is to catch ahold of his cloak with her
hands and follow that down, to find the thorn. The small woman does lever one
hand forward, as if to offer to do this. She doesn't quite look Julius in the
face, though. Even in the dark.
It's always helpful when there's conversation: the half-heard words bring
Xerise out of the odd finger-cleaning trance that she's found herself in, and
she slows her steps even as she looks curiously over towards the rosebushes. A
faint smile appears on the otherwise solemn face as she stops completely - more
attentive, yes. But still likely in someone's way and practically taunting a
further comedy of errors by her inattention. The finger-cleaning continues, an
absent compulsion not about to be given rest by the mere scene of someone
ensnared in roses' thorny embrace.
Atalanta steps into the garden from the living quarters, with all her 'going
to take a bath' alone acoutrements. It's damned early in the morning and who
the heck is gonna be there but her. Except there are all these people here. What
are all these people doing here? Don't they know that she's working herself up
to enter the cauldrons of sinfulness, the baths.
Julius lifts his hands up a bit, then tries to see his he can get it free
before an even bigger mess is made, saying simply, "It is just my ... cloak.."
How revolting. Here he is, stuck on the thorns of the roses that line the
path of the gardens by his cloak and he can't even free himself on his own.
Well, actually he could but far too much attention has been called now... and
as the late night crowd arrives, he sighs again inwardly and tries to aid his
own 'rescue'.
Lydia clucks her tongue quietly, offering occasional, unhelpful advice. She
glances towards Xerise as she draws near and smiles. "Ave." She greets. "Why
don't you help the poor lad as well, hmm? The roses jumped him."
Iris is embarassed and she's embarassed for Julius and she's even more
embarassed to hear the shuffle and scuffle of more feet. Good that Iris isn't
prone to fainting spells or anything overtly 'feminine' like that. She finally
half-hoods her eyes, reaches to clasp the cloak and tries to feel along the
length of it, to find out which part is actually caught. And to, gods willing,
free it.
You sense Iris murmurs, under her breath, like some litany: "I'm sorry. Just
a moment. It's nothing, I'm sure. I'm sorry."
Atalanta announces practically, though no one asked her, "Why not just get
shears or a sword and just whack him out of there?" That's it, Ata, always
applying force when delicacy will serve. She volunteers enthusiastically, "I'll
go get one!" So much for sneaking by and giving herself a reason not to go into
the baths, retreating as usual to her room to freshen up.
Xerise blinks mildly at Lydia for a moment, then inclines her head and
(thankfully) slips the cloth into her satchel. "Ave, Domina. The roses jumped
him, you say? Tsk." She departs the path, heading that way and standing a
short distance away to peer at the entanglement with interest. "I would be
happy to assist, if the other Domina and Dominus need my assistance, that is.
There may be some small risk of my making matters worse, of course, but..."
She trails off, then turns slightly to nod at Atalanta. "Tis a fine notion,
that - if you are sure you wish to fetch such impliments.." Does she /always/
talk like that?? "..it may be useful." She kneels down, trying to peer in to
see where the cloth is caught. "Could, perhaps, try removing the cloak and seeing
if you can extract yourself that way, Dominus. It may be a loss as it is."
ATALANTA
Look, it's one of those angels that look like they should have a tree
stuck up there... well, anyway, you get the idea. Her posture is well, gosh,
almost impressive really. It looks as though someone's starched her undergarments
and given her a permanent wedgie. It probably chafes. Her hair is a sunny
blonde reminiscent of a Barbie doll, look, it's the new winged Barbie with
kung fu grip! It hangs down her back in a long braid should she be required
for Rapunzel duty for some earthbound type. Her eyes are a startling blue that
are matched in color by the chimere that she wears. Dressed a bit more warmly
for the occasion, that of her employment, she has also a leather cuirass on,
in addition to greaves, caligae, braces. The gladius, well, she just likes how
it looks. Standing as tall as most men and a few women, that is, just under six
foot, despite the fact that she is a little skinnier than her normal self, she
does have muscles that betray that she has, at some point, had military training
and tries to maintain that physique. Her wings are white and lay flat, almost
cocooning her. They show signs of previous damage, though, by and large, most of
the feathers could stand some more growth. If she didn't have that martial look
on her face, she really would look like the angel that is placed in a creche. But
it's almost certain that the angel didn't look like she wanted to hit something.
XERISE
Shining copper locks have been gathered into a neat twist and pinned atop
her head: only a few curls are allowed to tumble down to frame the slender face.
Somber grey eyes regard you beneath long, pale lashes that are a mere shade or
two darker than her alabaster skin. Rose-kissed lips suggest the merest hint of
the shape of hearts: a delicate curve to match other elegant features. Beauty?
Alas, not quite. The unfortunate culprit: a nose, a shade too long to be
proportionate, with a decided aquiline tendency - rendering promise into
something a touch plainer. Snow-colored wings sprout forth from her lithe frame,
the plumage immaculately groomed, sleek with preening and good health. Her
fingers bear the faint stain of ink: no amount of scrubbing can ever get them
quite clean.
Pale lilac edged with cloth of cream and gold swirls loosely down to the
ankle, the chiton fastened with a pair of exquisitely worked brooches - each
bearing a half sun and crescent moon. A small signet ring bearing a similar
crest - the symbol of House Januarius - rests on her right hand, while feet
bear a pair of tooled sandals. The tip of a feather can be seen through a gap
at the top of a satchel-sized case that rests on her hip, the strap pressing
against the otherwise free-flowing fabric of the chiton as it passes to the
opposite shoulder.
It's just a corner of the cloak, and sure, simply removing the cloak would
certainly be a lot easier a gesture... but there is hesitency as he places
knotty fingers to the clasp of his cloak and reluctantly removes it from his
shoulders... revealing that lump upon his back to be a wing, white, pristine,
the finest feathers and plumage... but only one. He lowers to remove the corner
of the cloak caught, hoping not to bump over Iris as he does so...
.... Off of his left shoulder, streaching high to the heavens, is a thick
collection of slim feathers forming the structure of a majestic white wing.
Each feather is soft and long, spreading down from it's apex in a wash of
down, spreading out to longer, tapering feathers, strong and shaped as the
fingers of a god. It's span must be incredible and a beauty to behold in
flight. There is no match to it upon his back....
No worry. As soon as the man appears to take Xerise' fine advice, Iris has
stepped back, releasing her hold on the cloak. She steps back and winces as
that drives the thorns of the rose-branches that she'd held (perhaps unwisely)
with her own wings, through the protective feathers and into the sensitive
flesh of her wings. As it's all-important to cover over that wince, Iris yanks
her wing in, hard, off-balancing herself. She wobbles, then, and tries another
step backwards. Beware, Lydia, if you were standing too close.
Lydia was, actually, standing a tad too close, but she is nimble enough for
her old age and manages to step back in time. "Watch it, child!" She rebukes.
"I'm not as spry as I used to be." She retreats a few more steps, settling
on a bench, and watching carefully. "Would be a shame to cut off that cloak.
Try again, dears."
Atalanta steps back, away from the mutie. He's only got one wing. She'd
almost rather have darkling (two!) wings than just one. She squints at the
fellow, decides that he should have been man enough to chop it off, like that
Agenorides guy. She'd rather be a wingless freak then a one winged freak. Oooh,
maybe if she goes and gets the sword, she can get the bush -and- his wing and
pretend it was an accident. She shudders just thinking about it, thus not
offering anything constructive for her part.
Xerise glances up, sharply, for the stumble. "Careful, there, Domina."
There's a faint smile which fades as she turns back to regard Julius,
replaced instead by a dispassionate look. Not so much curious as regarding
the man with the lone wing in a clinical sort of way. "Fascinating," she
murmurs, pressing the fingers of one hand in the ground to maintain her balance.
Julius catches sight of the teetering Iris, quick enough to place a light
hand on her shoulder to try and catch her should she accedentally topple
towards the older woman. The last thing he needs is to completely cause a
disaster... though he suddenly gets the feeling that he's become the main
attraction once more thanks to his injuries. Words come forwards from the
recesses of his mind as he watches to help Iris help him...
Iris stops utterly, as Julius catches her. Xerise's word is heard, equally
loud as Atalanta's silence. And Lydia -- well, she's saved from drowning in
Iris' volumous wings. Iris' pale olive-green eyes widen, pupils narrowing then
reversing to all but swallow that colored portion, and she still. One wing
tremors, two feathers curl off and waft to the ground in the breezeless air.
"Do you need my help, Dominus Jove?" Jove. That, for the woman who found Julius
'fascinating'. That name was clearly enunciated, though no particular emphasis
was placed there.
Lydia is oblivious to the commotion, her eyes not being /that/ sharp. "He
should be free by now, dearies. Honestly. You'd think those roses were wyvern
or something. Just go in and free him." She advises, still sitting placidly
on her bench.
Who cares if he's a Jove? She's brawled, sorta, at the Empyror's wedding,
insulted the Empyress, and hasn't gotten in trouble, well, not really. She
didn't want friends or a husband -anyway-. Freak is a freak is a freak, no
matter who's name is attached to it. Look at her own cousin, Ori. Ata is a
bit worried that Iris will catch something from touching him, but does know
well enough not to say anything in front of folks. She'll save it for later.
Something within the rosebush elicits the determined attention of many: Julius
is deepest there, with his cloak. Iris is near him, under Julius' steadying
hand. Lydia is nearby on a bench, while Xerise squats on the ground to watch.
Atalanta stands on a pathway.
The sound of wings can be heard, and soon Israfel is making a landing, a
much steadier one than he might have just a month gone. After righting himself,
he looks around, and, noticing the commotion near the rosebush, raises an
eyebrow and starts heading in that direction.
Xerise's lips curve into a small smile, and she inclines her head to Julius.
"Do forgive my scrunity, Dominus Jove. I did not mean to offend." Removing
her hand from the ground, she closes the last few inches and offers it out.
"My assistance, of course, is still yours if you wish it." But there's no way
that she's crawling in those rosebushes, if she doesn't have to. Not because
of Julius, but because she doesn't particularly wish to get tangled, either.
Julius bends slightly at the waist to take care of the small puncture holes
in his cloak (little wear seems to have been done elsewise), helping Iris out
of the bushes as well as himself. See? Easy. "I appreciate your offer, Domina,
thank you. As well as yours, Domina...?" he asks of Iris, hinting at a formal
introduction.
Iris catches the implication and glances away, perhaps ironically at Atalanta.
The measure of Iris gaze is some fraction desperation, some fraction embarassment
and some fraction of something else, of which Atalanta will no doubt disapprove.
The last that prompts Iris to finally look back at Julius and, after a swallow,
draw in a breath and offer, "Iris." Familiy name is left conspiciously off, as
if Iris is a servant. Then Iris breaks Julius gaze, glancing backwards to
navigate steps away from the clutches of the rosebushes.
Lydia beams like she engineered the entire escape herself. She rises from the
bench, ambling forwards. "See, nothing to it? And the roses seem all right."
She spares them a moment's scrutiny. "Oh yes, and how are you, lad?" She asks
of Julius finally. "Right as justice in Civitas Dei, no?"
Israfel draws near the gathering, nodding amicably to everyone who happens to
glance his way, and peering to try to see what's going on.
Atalanta narrows her eyes at her big winged friend. She doesn't get it, the
lying bit, why lie, well, unless you're pretending to be a servant so you can
smooch with someone without them finding out who you are, but of course she
doesn't know any one like that. Damn, really too bad she couldn't lay into the
bushes with a sharp edge. She keeps her eyes on Iris though.
Xerise rises to her feet, and begins to brush imagined dirt off of her chiton
in tiny, almost nitpicky sort of gestures. Fasditious to a fault, apparently.
There's a moment's pause where she gives her chition the same sort of scrunity
she gave Julius before - and then the motions begin once again, even though
the chiton looks pristine.
Julius frowns very very lightly, a bit confused as how to address this woman
now. "Thank you," he says ernestly, biting back the questions that would
follow. To Lydia, he offers a surprisingly congenial smile off his rather
pale and scarred features. "Indeed, thank you fo your assitance, Domina Acesian."
Lydia beams, proud that he knew who she was. She was, after all, the venerable
old crone of the Palladium, unmatchable, unbeatable...and incorrigible. Smiling
pleasantly, she inclines her head to all and ambles away, content she's solved
another arduous task.
Atalanta's scowl turns Iris' gaze away from the tall woman and she looks back
at Julius in time to see his features animate into something other than that
uncertainty and embarassment she's seen before. Iris studies him for a moment,
then takes another few steps away, separating herself from the group with the
murmured apology, "Excuse me. I have...I have to go. Pardon." With this Iris
turns and flees, hopefully aiming so that she can get by Atalanta without the
barrage or the harassment that Atalanta's scowl forshadowed.
Atalanta isn't gonna badger her, not now. Not now that things are in their
proper order. Ata is the leader and Iris is back in line. Nevermind that period
where Iris displayed spine. She watches her friend leave, then swings back to
watch the other people in the garden. This place is so -weird-!
Iris meanders along a garden path until she steps into the living quarters of
the Palladium.
Iris has left.
Israfel approaches Atalanta and speaks to her quietly. "Excuse me, cousin,
but can you tell me what is going on?"
Xerise looks up from her self-preening, calling after both Lydia and the
fleeing Iris, "Clear skies..." Another moment, where she plucks an invisible
bit of fluff, and she's finally satisfied with her appearance. Finally.
Julius nods to all as they depart in a mannerly fashion, looking after Iris for
a fashion... then stops, turning his attention back to his cloak and redraping
it over his shoulders... and the one wing.
Atalanta swings her head to regard Israfel. Right, Listle's brother. Oh, will
the excitment ever end? She says, with a touch of tired patience, as if it
should be obvious to all. "Dominus Jove got stuck in the roses, Iris went in
after him, she and the Domina," she indicates Xerise here, "helped get him out."
She points after the departed Lydia, "She supervised." And I did my usual,
thinking bad thoughts about that freak with one wing.
Israfel aaaahs mildly and nods, smiling at his cousin. If he's heard anything
... controversial... about her, he certainly doesn't indicate it. "Thank you."
He regards the rose bush and then raises an eyebrow, possibly in amusement.
"This disentanglement required supervision?"
Xerise inclines her head to Israfel and Atalanta. "Ave," she murmurs, her
voice neutrally pleasant. Very bland, when you think about it. It's that careful
polite, "I don't know you" sort of voice. More for Israfel, as Atalanta has at
least triggered vague recognition.
Well, Julius has found himself far too in the spotlight this evening, and with
a small inclination of his head to Xerise and the others, "Vale Domini," he
says and heads towards the arches of the noble's quarters...
Atalanta gives a shrug, "You'd think it wouldn't, but then again...." she
doesn't come right out and say, what can you expect from a man who has one wing,
though considering who this is, it isn't hard to imagine. She adds, "She seemed
to think so. I was for chopping him out with shears." Xerise better remember Ata,
for it was Ata who offered the hospitality of her house just after the war, as
well as her cousin Ori's inkpot. Ata was being nice and damn well expects
everyone to remember it. Her attention is distracted and she watches Julius walk
out as well.
Israfel nods amicably to Xerise and then to Julian, with a smile for the man
with one wing. "Ave, Domina. Vale, Dominus." Listening to his cousin, he nods
at the mention of shears. "THat seems reasonable to me as well, cousin."
Xerise most certainly has that information filed neatly away in that overly
organized brain of hers, and probably even /does/ remember it, because she gives
Atalanta a fleeting almost-smile. Still doesn't mean she /knows/ the woman,
after all. Her gaze is drawn to Julius's departure, and she murmurs after, "Vale."
Only then, does she horn her way into the other conversation. "It would have
worked as well, Domina. I am surprised you did not fetch them after all."
Atalanta turns to regard Israfel with new eyes. She has just received
validation for one of her ideas! Watch out! She glances sidelong to Xerise,
then back to her cousin to whom she explains, "Were he more entwined, I might
have, but it was not that serious." Somewhere in there, she remembers to toss
out a, "Vale," though she had not previously for Lydia or Iris.
You meander along a garden path until you step into the living quarters of
the Palladium.
*fin*
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